


Tightly Undone

by misanthropiclycanthrope



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Meet-Cute, Trains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 06:21:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6644842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misanthropiclycanthrope/pseuds/misanthropiclycanthrope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tedious train journey takes Athos in an unexpected direction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tightly Undone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [evilmaniclaugh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilmaniclaugh/gifts).



Was it too much to ask, after such a long and tedious day, that the train be on time, free from delays, and not have a surplus of noisy children resident in what was supposed to be the ‘quiet’ coach?

Apparently so.

As soon as he’d heard that godforsaken tinny voice of doom speak the words ‘signal failure’, Athos had resigned himself to hell.

So absorbed was he in scowling at his reflection in the dark, rain-lashed window that it took him an embarrassing length of time to realise he was being addressed.

“This seat free?”

Athos glanced at the seat in question, considered lying in order to preserve his tiny portion of relative peace, then met a pair of warm brown eyes teamed with an open, friendly smile, and found himself nodding.

“Bit of a bugger, innit? Delay at this time of night.”

Fantastic. Now he was stuck with a chatterbox as a travelling companion. He had no desire to enter into any kind of conversation, but neither did he wish to appear rude. He may have had to endure enough impertinence to last him a lifetime, but that was no reason to inflict the same upon someone else.

“A rather apt ending to my day.”

“Rough one, eh?”

Athos gave a neutral grunt. He didn’t want to think about it, much less recount his woes to a stranger. At least they were now moving again. Small mercies.

Thankfully, the man seemed to take the hint and, settling more comfortably in his seat, he pulled a slim book from his pocket and began to read. It looked like poetry, from what Athos could see out of the corner of his eye. His curiosity aroused, and the view out of the window shrouded in darkness, he glanced down properly at the page, trying to identify the author and wishing he’d had the foresight to bring along his own reading material for the journey.

“It’s Keats.”

Athos started. He’d had no idea that he, too, was being observed. Or perhaps he had not been as subtle as he’d believed. A harder gaze pinned him now, a challenge, daring him to comment on the incongruity of such a bloke reading a volume of verse.

The thought hadn’t even occurred to Athos, but his cheeks flushed at having been caught looking, how it must have appeared.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, suitably chastened. “That was incredibly rude of me.”

To his surprise, he was swiftly forgiven, and the grin bestowed upon him was far more pleasant than a punch to the face.

“Me mate Aramis lent it me. Thought I should see what all the fuss was about.”

Somehow, despite himself, Athos found himself being drawn in, as if caught by some intangible yet irresistible force of nature. “And have you been sufficiently enlightened?”

“Dunno yet, don’t really get a lot of it.” The confession was paired with a small shrug, honest and unashamed. “Some of it’s okay, though.” He flicked back through a few pages, finding a particular passage and reading aloud.

“‘Where in the gust, the  
whirlwind, and the flaw  
Of rain and hail-stones, lovers  
need not tell  
Their sorrows—pale were  
the sweet lips I saw,  
Pale were the lips I kiss’d, and  
fair the form  
I floated with, about that  
melancholy storm’.”

The air around them stilled, the train and their fellow passengers fading into obscurity, and when their eyes met again Athos’s heart stuttered. Perhaps the choice of passage had been purely random, inconsequential, but the words hung between them, heavy with meaning and almost tangible, waiting for Athos to grasp hold of them.

Neither of them moved, unable or unwilling to break the tentative connection, yet not quite ready to accept what it might mean.

Reality came crashing back with a call of, “Tickets!” and Athos tore his gaze away to see the guard making his way along the aisle, checking tickets and rail cards as he went, and the moment of awkward uncertainty and anticipation was covered by a mutual fishing in pockets.

Once their permission to travel had been verified, Athos sank back into the questionable comfort of his seat, determined to think no more on poetry for fear his exhausted mind would weave it into even more fanciful notions.

Then he caught the quick flash of a cheeky grin and his stomach gave a lurch.

It was probably just that he hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast.

Dropping his head back against the headrest, Athos closed his eyes. The tension that had been coiled tightly in his muscles just an hour ago had almost completely unravelled, and even the rocking of the train was now calming rather than irritating.

Maybe it was the long day finally catching up with him, but his mind was now at peace, his body relaxed.

“Oi, mate.”

For a moment, Athos was aware only of the hand on his thigh, gently jostling his leg. It took several further seconds for his slowly waking brain to place whom that hand belonged to and where he was, but the sudden recollection had him jolting upright, utterly mortified at having fallen asleep on the stranger’s shoulder.

And he most certainly was not going to think about how comfortable he had been.

“Oh god, I’m sorry.”

His embarrassment roused only an amused and oddly fond smile. “Didn’t wanna disturb you, only I don’t know which is your stop an’ I wouldn’t want you to miss it.”

A flash of panic had Athos checking his watch twice to reassure himself he wasn’t miles past his destination.

“Lemme know which station you want, and I’ll wake you.”

“Thank you, but I’ll try to stay awake.”

“In that case, I should probably stop reading you poetry.”

Athos bit his tongue, desperate to bid him continue, but afraid of how easily he seemed able to imagine in the words a meaning deeper than intended. It had only been meant as a joke, after all.

“Just give me a poke if it looks like I’m in danger of dozing off again.”

A quick snort of laughter. “With pleasure.”

The low rumble of that deep voice sent a shiver down Athos’s spine, one he thought it best to ignore.

The interior door whooshed open, splintering the moment once again, and the buffet cart rattled into view, reminding Athos exactly how long it had been since he’d last had something to eat or drink. Just his luck that he only had enough cash on him for the taxi.

At least there wasn’t much father to go now, barring any more delays.

“What’re you havin’?”

Surprised by the question, Athos reflexively looked across at the trolley and caught sight of the collection of alcoholic drinks clustered in one of the trays. He immediately turned away again.

“Nothing for me, thank you.”

“He’ll have a tea.”

Indignation warred with gratitude, but before he had the chance to protest, Athos had a steaming cup in his hand, and the will to argue vanished.

“How much do I owe you?” he asked, digging his wallet from his pocket.

“Nah, don’t worry.” His offer was waved away with a smile. “It’s on me.”

It was incredible how one small act of kindness could make the world seem so much brighter.

“Knew it!”

The happy exclamation baffled Athos. “Sorry?”

“I knew there was a smile hiding in there somewhere.”

Athos ducked his head, bashful all of a sudden. How this man had so successfully gotten under his skin, and so quickly, was a mystery, and one Athos had no desire to question.

Usually, his prickly, taciturn façade deterred all attempts to strike up conversation, but on this occasion it had had no discernable effect. And now a victory had been won, and despite his continued lack of any significant contribution, he was regaled with humorous anecdotes and clever observations and, perhaps even more surprisingly, he found himself listening attentively until the mechanical female voice interrupted to announce their imminent arrival at the next station.

Shocked at how quickly the latter half of his journey had sped by, Athos turned to say this would be his stop, but was beaten to it.

“This is me.”

“Oh. Me too.” That earned Athos another smile, although he could hardly lay claim to a coincidence. A poet might have proclaimed it to be fate, but Athos was a pragmatic man.

Rising, he reached up to the overhead luggage shelf for his suitcase and holdall, and the man beside him was instantly on his feet, moving out into the aisle to give Athos space as he dragged his case down.

“Lemme help with those.”

“I can manage,” Athos insisted, but his holdall was already secure in a large hand. With a nod of thanks he led the way to the door, glad that he didn’t have to wrestle both cases down onto the platform by himself.

The rain had died away to a fine drizzle, but the bite of the chill air was a shock. Nevertheless, he was escorted all the way to the taxi rank and together they made short work of getting his luggage stowed away in the boot of one of the waiting cabs.

Immensely grateful, Athos offered to share the taxi.

“Nah, I’m only a five minute walk away.” It was a gentle demurral, and Athos thought he recognised in it the same reluctance to part company he now couldn’t deny he felt himself. “It’s been a pleasure.”

Athos took the proffered hand, both of them holding on a little longer than absolutely necessary for a friendly handshake. Then, with another flash of that brilliant smile, Athos was alone once again, watching the man jog across the road and fighting down the irrational and utterly ridiculous urge to call him back.

Only after the shadows had enveloped the retreating figure did Athos sink into the taxi, and by the time he was dropped at the entrance to the hotel, he had come to recognise the hollow feeling in his chest to be the space left by an unexpected sense of loss. A void he hadn’t even known existed had been filled for a short time, all too brief, but if there was one thing he had become expert at over the years it was keeping his feelings safely barricaded behind carefully erected fortifications.

He just had to rebuild the walls he hadn’t noticed being slowly but surely chipped away.

It was all easier to push from his mind as he went through the rigmarole of checking in and finding his room, and by the time he had shut himself inside the few square feet that was to be his home for the next two weeks all he could think about was getting out of his damp clothes and falling into bed.

Hoping that he’d had the sense to pack his wash bag and pyjamas in his holdall rather than burying them in the suitcase, Athos opened it up, only to freeze when he saw what was lying there on top of his neatly folded jumper and laptop case.

A slim volume of Keats.

His first thought was that it must have gotten muddled in with his luggage while they were alighting from the train, but there was no fathomable way it could have ended up zipped inside his bag except by design.

He picked it up as carefully as he would a sacred relic, mind hazy with the surreal sense he was dreaming until he felt its light but solid weight in his hand.

Flipping open the cover—an action driven by instinct rather than mere curiosity—Athos blinked at the phone number scrawled hurriedly beneath a name.

_Porthos_.

Suddenly, that pervasive emptiness was gone, filled by something he didn’t quite dare put a name to, but he was willing to acknowledge the spark of hope that ignited in his heart.

The trials of the British public transport system had not completely robbed him of his ability to smile.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from The Who's '5:15', and Porthos quotes from 'On a Dream' by John Keats.


End file.
